


Out of the Closet

by denizci



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Department of Mysteries, Gen, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19068001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denizci/pseuds/denizci
Summary: The old man picked himself a small table by the window in the still vacant coffee shop. Placing his unwieldy bag from his side to the top of the table, he pulled a newspaper to read.The old man closed his eyes, as if trying to make a choice.'If someone catches me reading this... Screw me,' he thought.He opened his eyes. Merlin looked at the fresh copy of Daily Prophet he was holding in his hands.“Ministry of Magic’s ‘Massive’ Secret Out: Find Out How Much Ministry Went From Their Way To Just Conceal An Ancient Closet (And Yes It Includes Muggles)” the headline read.'Probably nothing to worry about,' he thought as he sipped his scalding sweetened coffee.He was so wrong.So wrong.





	1. Excavation

Three strong men hauled a chest out of a deep tomb, dust spreading everywhere.

An insignificant man wiped his forehead, sweat and grime staining his rag. He was tired to his bones, starving _and_ terribly homesick. What he was doing here? Even he wouldn’t take jobs fishy as this one, but he quickly shaked his head. _Work was work._ Why start having doubts when it was almost finished?

He stumbled as his feet caught into dirt, heavy chest swaying dangerously between three men. Their supervisor shrieked, “Be careful with that, you muggle fools! That is a thousand year old artifact!”

He gave a sigh of relief as finally _finally_ they put the chest on to the ground. He looked up and saw Jonathan and Edgar wiping themselves and bantering.

“What is in that chest? My wife?” Edgar chuckled.

“Yeah, my man. My arms were killing me. I thought we were going to drop it for a second,” Jonathan replied.

“Well, I’m happy we didn’t drop it and crush our feet. What _in_ _earth_ is in here? It could break bones if accidentally slipped.”

Their boss was watching them from afar.

“What a peculiar man,” Charlie wondered as their eyes locked. Sneering eyes met with kind brown ones. His boss quickly twisted his head, pointing a stick at the documents in his hand.

Jonathan and Edgar looked at him.

“Yeah, shrieking like a girl while we were carrying the trunk. _‘Careful!’ ‘Careful!’_ ” Jonathan mocked, “If it was an easy job, he should have done it himself.”

“What is he even wearing, my wife’s wedding dress?” Edgar laughed.

“Don’t insult the boss, guys,” Charlie replied, “At least before he paid us.”

“Yeah, right.” Two men quickly returned to their bantering.

Truth be told, their boss was a little strange. He was dressed in a very _unique_ manner. That, Charlie could easily agree. He was wearing a baby blue _cape? robe?_ _who knows what they call fashion these day_ s with an oddly sticking hat on his head. That combined with his bizarre manners and words, formed a very fishy fishy looking person.

Charlie didn’t mind it though. Work was work, and despite digging ancient _and possibly illegal_ artifacts and meeting with strangely dressed bosses, he will do what he was paid for without question.

His boss beckoned him. Charlie jogged next to him, standing awkwardly.

“Right, Bradley-” the odd man started.

“Charlie”

“Yes Charlie,” he corrected, “I want to be sure you won’t be spilling the pumpkin juice? All right?”

He must made a face since the man continued, “Don’t take the Kneazle out of the bag. Right, mister? No leakage? Understood?”

“Of course, sir. My lips are sealed.”

“Ahem.” He turned to two other men. Jonathan and Edgar were a few feet away, watching his interaction with the boss.

“Thank you, you Mug- I mean _workers_ for your hard work. Ministry would certainly remember your _delicate_ efforts,” the weird man begun.

“What about the pay?” Edgar interrupted.

“Pay you? After you’ve been nothing but rough with this precious treasure? You would be mistaken with trolls, if I ever saw one, with how lazily you were handling it out of that tomb!” the weird man sneered.

“Whatever, my man. We don’t care about your old ass trunk, just pay us and all of us will go in our own separate ways,” Jonathan retorted.

“Its worth is certainly more than you, you, you-” the weird man stumbled through his words, “you muggle filth! I should not even pay you a knut for the possible damages you caused by swinging it!”

“Look, boss,” Charlie grimaced, “I will be more careful next time.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it? What’s done is done. You,” he pointed at the other two men, “start cleaning up. I will pay you in a minute.”

“You,” He beckoned him, “You come with me.”

At last, Charlie got a proper look at the chest they were digging since morning. Pale dust and rot covered all edges and sides but even dirt could not conceal the stunning artefact they unearthed.  Carvings of dragons and fantastical creatures covered the hard wooden surface, dark brown wood decorated very heavily. _That looks ancient!_

“Try to open the chest, will you?” the weird man mumbled.

“Yes sir.”

He quickly brought his tool bag next to him and started to do what he was asked to do. Or rather attempted.

Charlie did not notice initially, but the chest was _massive._ It was a miracle they could carry it without breaking their backs _,_ he thought. So wide and tall, it looked like a full closet. _A dwarf’s closet,_ he laughed to himself. _Leave the silly thoughts Charlie. Go back to work._

The lock looked simple enough. He brought his tool under it. _Is that real gold?_

He pushed and pushed. But it would not open. It would not even bulge. _Tricky one, are you?_

He pulled his chain saw from the tool bag. _Just wait you bastard, just you wait._

Charlie started sweating. _Why won’t you open, you are only a closet._ He pulled his whole weight above it. This won’t work, he muttered to himself.

He looked up to his boss. “Undeserving low-breeding filthy muggles,” his boss kept mumbling to himself. “They can’t even open a trunk, unbelievable!”

His peering eyes found his.

“What good are you? Stop staring and continue your work.”

“Yes sir.”

Despite his long efforts, the chest would not open. Not even an inch. Not _even_ a quarter of an inch. He was frustrated to say the least. He looked at the descending sun above him. _Goodbye, my lunch._

If not for the almost silent _Whoosh_ he heard, Charlie wouldn’t raised his head.

Red hair and purple robes waved slightly in the warm summer breeze. _Huh?_

“There you are Unspeakable Abbott. Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence today!”

“Quit the shit, Mr. Sykes. Let’s look at what you have found.”

A woman stood next to his boss. Seemingly talking to him with the same odd language.

“I hope you won’t be wasting my time, Mr. Sykes,”  Mrs. Abbott spoke. Her voice sharp as the saw he was holding in his hand. “Certainly, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Of course not. Of course not.”

Mrs. Abbott and his boss walked next to him. “Muggle?” Mrs. Abbott raised an eyebrow to his boss.

He looked embarrassed.

“It’s easier to deal with,” his boss muttered, “I already paid and obliviated the other two. According the Ministry’s rules, of course.”

“What would you need muggles for, Mr. Sykes? _This_ did not happen before,” said the woman.

“Anti-levitation charms are placed on the artefact. If not for that, I could easily levitate it myself, you know.” He puffed his chest.

“Only you, Mr. Sykes, would be proud of casting a first year spell.” His cheeks blotched. “Let’s look closer, shall we?”

She pulled a wooden stick from her robes, trailing it on the carvings. _What’s with weird people with sticks?_

“Incredible. You might have hit the Graphorn’s eye in this one, Mr. Sykes,” whispered Mrs. Abbott. “Who knows which riches this possesses?”

His boss had the audacity to look _humbled._

“And who might you be?” she was addressing him.

“Um... Charlie, hi. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” her expression indicated otherwise, “Your job here is finished. Mr. Sykes, please pay him.”

His boss rushed to his side, pulling a purse from his robes. _How did it even fit there?_

“Here Bradbury,” he spoke, “Your pay, here take it,” he pointed at his palm. A few _gold_ coins sat there.

“What?”

“Take it.”

“Okay?”

“It was good making business with you, Brandy. We, the Ministry, will certainly remember your efforts despite you not being so usefu-” Mrs. Abbott hit him on his shoulder, “I mean, with your extremely beneficial endeavors, of course. We wouldn’t uncover this artifact if not for you,” he stopped abruptly.

“Merlin’s balls! Someone gave us away. Look,” he indicated an odd looking bush a feet away. Shadows were dancing around it despite the lack of sun on the sky above.

“Concealment charm, damn you,” he spited, “One of the lackeys of the _Daily Prophet_ is here.”

“I should alert the Ministry before they publish anything then.”

She waved his wand towards that bush. One person jumped out of it. One odd looking person. _Just like them. What have I gotten myself into?_

“You cannot do this!” he was shouting, waving his stick between the boss and the woman, “There’s something called Free Press! The wizarding world should be aware of this discovery!”

“We can and we will, you know that Mr. Spinnet,” said Mrs. Abbott. “Stop struggling or it will be much _more_ harder.”

_What just happened?_ He what? _What?_

The woman’s face turned to him.

“Goodbye, Mr. Charles.”

“Wha-” The woman pointed her wooden stick to his face.

“ _Obliviate_.” 


	2. Transportation

_“Obliviate.”_

The unsuspecting man stumbled a few steps backwards, his eyes widening and mouth parting. However, soon all of his emotions were drained to an expressionless blank state.

The muggle’s head strained around, eyes darting at his surroundings. He opened his mouth. “How did I...” he mumbled, “... get here?”

Intern Ruben Sykes relaxed his shoulders. Another successful day, another successful discovery. _Okay, this is kind of once in a lifetime occasion but still..._

The struggling journalist sat a few feet away, his mouth stuffed and hands tied behind his back. _Pitiful_ , he thought, _Look at the state of you, mudblood._ He knew he shouldn’t be too arrogant criticising the journalist, but play stupid games, win stupid prizes. No one should expect to best Unspeakable Abbott in a duel—she is an _Unspeakable_ for Merlin’s sake. Everyone must have known that. Clearly, not _everyone_...

He snorted from his thoughts, “Loser.”

The journalist looked at him with a look on his face. _Really_ , as if he was saying. _Really, you are telling me this?_

“Fuck off.”

Ruben raised his head. The muggle had wandered around, picking himself up, still with a wondered expression donning his features. _Muggles are so stupid._

_Ahem._

_Anyway._  

After facing Unspeakable Abbott, Intern Ruben Sykes realized something significant.

They had a problem.

One _tiny_ problem.

How do you transport something with unbreakable anti-levitation and anti-apparition charms to the Ministry, at least miles from where they are standing, without being conspicuous?

(you don’t)

Thankfully, Unspeakable Abbott had an idea.

 

“I’m not getting on _that_.”

Unspeakable Abbott eyed Ruben, her smile seeming a little tight.

“You _will.”_

He gulped.

“Ahem,” someone interrupted them.

“Welcome to the Knight bus, emergency transport for stranded witch or wizards,” the man standing at the edge of the bus, looking as if almost going to fall off, exclaimed, “My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor for this afternoon!”

“Umm…” Ruben turned to look at the Unspeakable Abbott.

“You are not much on the brainy side, are you?”

“Hey, don’t insult my intelligence. If it’s so clear, then tell me how we can carry the _thing_ to the bus.”

“Just because we cannot charm the chest does not mean we cannot charm ourselves.”

“Oh.”

“The quality of Hogwarts must have dropped more than I hoped so.”

“Hey!”

The conductor was watching them from afar, leaning back to the door of the bus. “Y’all sure you don’t need any help with that?” he asked.

“No, we are perfectly fine.”

 

“Be careful, Mr. Sykes! I will hex you if you step on my foot one more time,” said Unspeakable Abbott, sounding exasperated.

“Sorry.”

They loaded the heavy load—with many minutes of uncoordinated cooperation and colorful curses—to the Knight Bus Unspeakable Abbott summoned, despite Ruben’s initial protests.

Ruben curled his nose at the sight. Creaking beds and decapitated dolls crowded the interior of the bus. The chest they carried clumsily stuck between two beds.

A moment later, the young conductor shouted, “Hold on our dear passengers, Ministry of Magic we go!”

He would have been plastered to the nearest window as soon as the bus started moving if not for Abbott pulling back on his robe, as he was not holding onto any railings.

After long awkward pauses and rapid twists and turns in vibrant London streets, they reached the familiar phonebox of the Ministry of Magic at last. Fitting the chest to the phonebox was more complicated but Ruben and Unspeakable Abbott and the large chest somehow managed to fit into it. Simple answer: magic.

Ruben gave a long held breath at the familiar view of mold coloured walls and grand water fountain at the entrance of the Ministry. The statue of the wizards were winking at him from their throne of beasts. _Finally. Somewhere_ _civilized_.

“I’m not using that death-trap ever again!” he said to Unspeakable Abbott, as they were carrying the chest from the entrance.

“You probably won’t use it, anyway. Stop pondering about frivolous matters and focus on the urgent task at hand.”

As they were crossing next to the fountain, Ruben was distracted by the many onlookers he and Unspeakable Abbott had gathered. They looked as if they wondered why they were carrying an object seemingly the muggle way: manually. Ruben Sykes flushed at the implication.

Unspeakable Abbott noticed his hesitation and said, “Speed up, Mr. Sykes. Elevators are on the Eastern side.”

“Um... Unspeakable Abbott,” begun the anxious intern, “Where are we going now? Isn’t the Office of Magical Artefacts positioned at the Western Wing?”

“We aren’t going to Office of Magical Artefacts, Mr. Sykes,” said the Unspeakable Abbott, a sense of dread starting to pool around his stomach. _Please don’t say, don’t say…_

“We are going to Department of Mysteries.”

 

*                *               *                *                *

 

“Circe,” started the Office Head of Magical Artefacts,  “Please be reasonable. It would be the best if we took the artefact and inspected it first. After all, one of _our_ interns found the artefact first.”

It didn’t take long for the Office Head Vincent Broadmoor to regret ever opening his mouth when he saw the fury on Abbott’s eyes boring deep into his soul.

“How _dare_ you order me around like an intern!” begun the woman, “Is your office even _qualified_ to take these type of cases?”

His face flushed. _He looks like red pumpkin,_  thought Intern Sykes.

“Of course, Department of Mysteries is going to take this case.”

Perhaps, Mr. Broadmoor held onto no preservation. But their interaction which followed after would certainly be immortalised in the minds of every upcoming ministry interns and beyond.

To say the least, Mr. Broadmoor _exploded_.

“You pompous arrogant Unspeakables! _I’m an Unspeakable so I know everything more than anybody else!_ No shit!” shouted Mr. Broadmoor. His veins bulging from his neck.

“This is _my_ field of expertise, not _yours_!”

He was fuming. His eyes were darting in all directions when they caught his form. _Him. Ruben._

_Oh_.

His mouth twisted.

_Oh, no._

Spit flew in the air when Mr. Broadmoor started speaking once again.

“I didn’t know Department Heads dropped everything to follow an _intern’s_ every whim.”

Something dangerous flashed in Abbott’s eyes.

_Please, don’t continue, please, please..._

“Especially an intern not even from _their own_ department,” he halted as if trying to catch his breath to no avail.

When he saw the look in his eyes, he knew he was doomed.

_No, no, no, no..._

“But perhaps, Unspeakable Abbott, your affinity to Intern Sykes is nothing more blatant favouritism towards your family relations. I wouldn’t expect that from _you_ , as someone who so strongly advocates for transparency and equality in the Ministry!”

_Fuck._

_It was good knowing you Mr. Broadmoor. But you are about to get absolutely shredded._

 

*                *               *                *                *

 

“What is the source of this commotion?” the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge shouted, once seeing the two wizards with their wands drawn, pointed _towards_ each other.

Upon closer inspection, he recognised them as Head Unspeakable Mrs. Abbott and Office Head of Magical Artefacts, Mr. Broadmoor.

Both of them were breathing heavily, their faces redder than the Disarming Charm.

_Oh my goodness. What’s going on here?_

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I am not interrupting something private, am I?”

Both heads snapped to look at him.

“Minister Fudge—!” “Mr. Fudge!”

Cornelius Fudge sighed. _This was not how I wanted to spend my day. With many interested onlookers too._

Mrs. Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor fell silent, seemingly understanding he was outranking both of them.

“Someone explain!” he called out, “What’s going on here?”

Mrs. Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor eyed each other before rushing to explain.

“ _He_ attemp—” “This woman trie—” “take _my—_ ” “my department's—” “this chest is ours—” “no _ours—_ ”

They were silenced by the Minister. “Silence!”

“What are you? Two bickering children?” he exclaimed, “You, Unspeakable Abbott, go first.”

Mr. Broadmoor breathed through his mouth. Mrs. Abbott smirked at him.

“Well, Minister Fudge, where should I start? Mr. Broadmoor is attempting to take an artifact belonging to the Department of Myste—”

“Lies!” interrupted Mr. Broadmoor, “It’s all lies! One of the interns of Magical Artefacts found the chest from the tomb first!”

“Wait a moment, what chest? Whose tomb are you talking about? Where did you find it?”

“Intern Sykes found the chest and he is an intern of Magical Artefacts Office. Clearly, there shouldn’t be a even a debate about the ownership of the chest here, should there?”

“Which one of you is Intern Sykes?”

“Me!” A young man squeaked.

“How did this chest—” the Minister begun, “even get into your possessions?”

The young man gulped. “Uh…”

 

Young intern gazed at the many superiors gathered. Unspeakable Abbott, Office Head Mr. Broadmoor, Minister Fudge… _Is that head Auror Madam Bones?_ He felt dizzy.

“I … Well… There is a ruined castle just outside of a town called Glutenbur, or something like that. And I just…”

“This was not the proper procedure, Mr. Sykes!” shrieked Mr. Broadmoor, “No going to expeditions alone _and_ without informing the Office! We talked about this!”

The young man shrunk at the gaze of many adults, nodding with Broadmoor's every word.

“Continue,” said the Minister, “and no more interruptions,” looking at Mr. Broadmoor and Mrs. Abbott.

“There were rumours, _ahem,_ rumours that a muggle found ruins of an ancient castle and I went to investigate.” Intern Ruben averted his eyes. “I detected a strong magical aurora near the eastern side of it. Inside somewhere like a tomb. Upon closer inspection I found this chest.”

“Why did a…” begun Minister Fudge looking at the eerie chest placed near the exit, “... a closet even got your attention in the first place?”

“It is intertwined with intricate charms like I never seen before, Minister Fudge,” interrupted Unspeakable Abbott, “Let Unspeakables take this case. No one else can manage it.”

“Can you be silent for a moment, Unspeakable Abbott!”

Unspeakable Abbott eyed the Minister. The Minister eyed the Unspeakable Abbott. Ruben Sykes eyed the chest left near the entrance of the Ministry.

“Are you a grave digger, Mr. Sykes?” asked Head Auror Madam Bones, speaking for the first time.

Ruben felt himself freeze under the scrutiny of many individuals, his _superiors_.

“I’m so surprised this is coming from _you,”_ retorted Mrs. Abbott before Ruben could say anything.

“Mrs. Abbott! Do I have to repeat myself?”

Unspeakable Abbott closed her mouth with a click.

Minister Fudge took one look at the many wizards and witches gathered, many _respectable_ wizards and witches around him, and turned his head to look at the sweating intern.

“The chest was charmed with anti-levitation and anti-apparition charms so... I hired a few muggles to excavate it. They were obliviated, of course. That’s all I did,” Ruben mumbled. _I did nothing wrong._

Head Auror Madam Bones appeared particularly baffled. “Wait, who obliviated whom?”    

Intern Ruben Sykes’ eyes widened.

“You, Mr. Sykes, are not authorized to obliviate! Memory Charms are extremely dangerous. Why do you think we have professional Obliviators for?”

“Uh…” He gazed at the Unspeakable Abbott. Her eyes told if he outed her too, trouble would find him.

“Come with me, Mr. Sykes. Let’s have a little chat about safe magic using—If you are done questioning him Minister.”

“He’s all yours Madam Bones.”

After Madam Bones and Intern Sykes left, Minister peered at the large chest, which went mostly unnoticed during the debate.

“Let’s have a look at this closet, shall we?”

 

*                *               *                *                *

  

A man was walking on the path next to the lake.

Grey clouds were suspended on the pale sky. Dark woods stretched endlessly beyond the lake, seemingly evergreen and untamed.

The man’s blue eyes gazed at the serene water, waiting. As if something was going the disrupt the unmoving surface and rise from the unknown depths.

Birds shrieked at the air above, branches swayed slowly on the tree tops.

A slight breeze touched his cheek.

Nothing rose from the lake.

The man gave a long held breath.

As he turned his head towards the road, he was met with a blue blur of a large vehicle, tires screeching and one voice shouting from the driver seat, “Look out for the road, you cranky old man!”

But soon the truck disappeared with the old man following it with his eyes.

“Old?” The old man chuckled. “Yes. Very old. You can say that,” he murmured to himself.

The man continued his walk.

As he reached his destination, a quaint coffee shop just outside of Glastonbury, a smile touched his lips.

The door ringed as he pushed it. The familiar smell of baked goods flooded him.

“Good morning Merlin,” said the smiling woman by the counter, “Today, still the same order?”

The young woman appeared to prepare the coffee machine next to the sink. Colorful mugs donned the side, with fresh muffins sat deliciously near his nose.

“Good morning to you too, Olwen,” greeted _Merlin._ “You know me so well. Yes, one Cinnamon Dolce Latte please.”

“Your order is like of a teenager’s, Merlin but you appear older than my grandfather. Some would question your sanity if you think this amount sugar is healthy even for the young,” said the woman.

“Young?” asked the old man, “You please me, young Olwen. Nobody said I was young for years.”

“It wasn’t a compliment for you but...” laughed the young woman, “You are a strange old man, Merlin.”

“Strange? Yes. That’s one of the words people also use to describe me.”

“What other words people use to describe you?” asked Olwen, “You are surely gathered many acquaintances over the years. Everyone knows about you in this little town.”

“Well…” started Merlin, “One young man, total prat really... I mean if you looked at the definition of a prat in the dictionary, his name would appear at the top!”

The young woman giggled.

“He used to call me all kinds of names to insult me. Total bully, really!”

“What kind of names?” said the young woman, leaning forward from the counter.

“Well… Let me think… Useless. Idiot. Cabbage Head. Buffoon. Your pick.”

“He was certainly creative with his insults, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He even called me a petticoat!” Both the young woman and the old man got into a fit of laughter.

“What is even a petticoat?” asked the young woman between her hiccups.

“Exactly!”

The old man’s eyes crinkled as if remembering something.

“But, I have to say it was as if I was demanding for it really, insulting him on the moment when we met.”

“Oh?” Olwen raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yes. But I was much creative, you know.”

“Hmm.”

They were interrupted by the coffee machine buzzing. Hot coffee poured itself to a large mug.

“Here’s your order. One steaming Cinnamon Dolce Latte for my customer,” said the young women, handing him the coffee.

“Thanks, Olwen.”

“Were you close with him?” asked Olwen.

Merlin breathed in the thick aroma of sugar. He felt _bold,_ armed with the extra sweetened beverage.

_Should I_ ? he thought. _Or should I not?_

“Oh yes. He was my best friend,” begun Merlin. “Before he passed away, anyway.” The old man’s eyes watered, turned his head towards the door, pulling down his large beanie.

But Olwen realized at once. “Oh my, I’m so sorry!”

“No matter, Olwen,” said the old man, wiping his eyes with a crumpled napkin, “It was a long time ago.”

“Still! What kind of a bartender if I let my favorite customer grieve alone?”

“Favorite customer?” winked Merlin.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“If my silly words pleases anyone, I’m one happy man, am I not?” The old man smiled.

The young woman huffled, turned his back to the coffee machine.

“It’s your luck that you are this early everyday. Don’t think I would let you act like this if there was more customers around,” retorted the bartender, starting to wipe the counter fiercely but Merlin could tell she was smiling.

“Ask me if you need anything, alright?”

“Yes, of course, Olwen”

The old man picked himself a small table by the window in the still vacant coffee shop. Placing his unwieldy bag from his side to the top of the table, he pulled a newspaper to read.

The old man closed his eyes, as if trying to make a choice.

_If someone catches me reading this..._ _Screw me,_ he thought.

He opened his eyes. Merlin looked at the fresh copy of Daily Prophet he was holding in his hands.

“Ministry of Magic’s ‘Massive’ Secret Out: Find out How much Ministry Went From Their Way to Just Conceal An Ancient Closet (And Yes It Includes Muggles)” the headline read.

_Probably nothing to worry about,_ he thought as he sipped his scalding sweetened coffee.

He was so wrong.

So wrong.


	3. Dispersion

_**Ministry of Magic’s ‘Massive’ Secret Out: Find out How Much Ministry Went From Their Way to Just Conceal An Ancient Closet (And Yes It Includes Muggles)** _

 

By Derek Spinnet

September 4, 1996

 

In Glastonbury, a charming little town near the infamous ‘Isle of Avalon’, alleged birth place of many legends for both wizards and muggles, there were rumours of a discovery made by a muggle concerning an ancient artifact, supposedly covered up by the Ministry before our very eyes. 

The Ministry declined to comment (no surprise here) on the rumours. However, does this mean there’s nothing more to the rumours than there’s information about it out there? Or is it something more?

Today, we address those rumours. The rumours, the Ministry so desperately tried to cover up _—But_ who are they kidding? Can the truth be hidden from the Free Press? (No! It cannot!)

Naturally, I, as the reporter who took the case for this noble cause, went to investigate the rumoured location of the _so-called_ “artifact”. 

Most rumours involved a muggle referred to as an “archaeologist”—a noble profession where muggles excavate remnants of graves to educate themselves of their forgotten past—stumbling upon the venerable ruins of a castle belonging to a magical disposition. Rumours vary between the details. When and how the discovery is made is unclear. Considering disillusionment and muggle-repelling charms were found at the location of the discovery, how a muggle came upon the ruins is even a greater mystery. 

Finding the location of the alleged castle was not difficult. According to an anonymous tip the Daily Prophet received, a “sketchy man” was seen wandering around old ruins, digging and grubbing around the outskirts of Glastonbury, a small town in West England.

According to a local muggle, this incident is nothing new. “Many of his sort come here,” one muggle man noted, “Treasure hunters, they are! But they never find anything new!”

And it is certainly nothing new. Most of the residents of Glastonbury would assure you strange people turning up to scrutinize the mythical past of the area is not uncommon, mostly due to many legends surrounding this little quaint town. 

Glastonbury, founded in the 7th century by a small group of farmers, is famous for its tailors and shoemakers locally. Green plains and woodlands surround the little town. Its main attraction is an old church at the town square. This town, at first glance, would appear entirely insignificant. But there is more than what meets the eye. 

Glastonbury possesses more mysteries and legends than your average British town, which results in making it a beacon for many treasure hunters and ensuring the locals’ main source of income: tourism. From goblin rule to ancient kingdoms, one could find any type of legends relating to Glastonbury. 

Even the children’s story, the Ballad of the Green Peak, is set in this little town. According to the ballad _and the set of unconventional events that followed it,_ an old homeless man defied the local authority by dying all of the hair of the residents and rooftops of Glastonbury Abbey green. His reasoning being the local governor trying to change a local pub’s name to boost the local tourism.

The alleged discovery of a ruined structure might support the existence of some of the other legends too. Some rumours claim this castle is the proof of Goblin King Bluelips’ short rule and fabled wealth over West England during the 1600s, right before the end of the second Goblin War. Goblin King Bluelips, in a legendary tactical move, had managed to take most of West England and allegedly built himself a spectacular place of residence in a secluded location. It would certainly be a mansion fit for a goblin of legends if that is the case.

But rumours do not stop there. Some few even claim this is the ruins of mighty Merlin’s Camelot! Quite the preposterous claims! While in muggle legends the Isle of Avalon is the final resting place for King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, most Magi-historians place the legendary Camelot’s location near Scotland and not in England, which makes situating Arthurian legends anywhere near in Glastonbury nearly impossible.

Although the little town is examined thoroughly by many investigatory visits both by wizards and muggles, that does not mean there’s not something still out there. Many of the residents of Glastonbury seem to embrace many unsolved mysteries the town’s mythical past brings. And seem to recognize and (perhaps perpetuate) it by heart. The situation was not different for another muggle woman. 

“Growing up here, you feel like the air was differe— _magical_ even,” said the muggle,  “People like to come here and see if there’s any truth to the stories. You feel disappointed _alongside with them_ when they realize they are nothing more than children’s bedtime stories.”

After inquiring about the possible identity and origins of the ruins and the muggle “archeologist,” she mentioned something worth noting. 

“He was such a snobby boy,” she said, “Everyone here has seen him gloating about this magnificent discovery—said it was near the top of that hill.”

And most interestingly, according to the muggle woman, the man was not alone but working with one other person. 

“The other one was so very unprofessional. Ordering people around to dig it up. Normally they work in teams, you know,” I took notes as I nodded in agreement, “and he was dressed in a bizarre fashion too,” she sighed.

After I gathered enough information about the whereabouts of the castle and the people who found it, it was time to see the “ruins” myself. 

I went to the “hill” positioned in the very edge of the town and was instantly greeted by the infamous location of the ruins. It was difficult to miss. 

The ruins of the castle did not resemble a castle. I don’t know why they kept referring to it as a castle. Perhaps the ruins could be referred to as remnants of a once mighty structure but the years clearly had not been kind to it. 

Moss ridden slobs of stone were spread above the hill side. Mud and greenery covered most of the area. There was no single connected structure. What the muggle woman said about its magical quality was clearly an exaggeration. There was no innate magical imposition to the area. However, I managed to track faint lines of muggle-repellents and other weak wards. While they were not powerful, it was clear to me they would repel all of Muggles around. 

As I was thinking about returning, I was alerted by a noise coming through a wooded area, a little before the position I held at the time. I decided to search for the source of the noise as an investigative reporter.

A tomb-like structure rose before me. How could I miss it before, I do not know. But there was a muggle man sitting by a large trunk, with a man directing him. I stumbled upon a crime scene, I realized at once. 

Upon further examination, I was certain he was the “sketchy archeologist” mentioned and the other one was his accomplice. He was giving orders to the other man while the other one attempted to open a large trunk. Most importantly, I recognized this was no ordinary archeologist. This was a Ministry intern, as he was wearing the formal intern uniform. 

His attire matched the description muggle woman gave me. Why would a Ministry intern work with a muggle worker seemingly also alone? I have no answers as of writing this article.

Nonetheless, he didn’t remain alone for a short amount of time. Another Ministry worker greeted him. An Unspeakable!  As I sat there and watched them, I noticed despite their attempts, they could not open the trunk. 

At this point, my memory becomes hazy. When I came to my senses, my limbs were tightly bound in a bush, with a muggle man staring down at me. Thankfully, he released me from the bounds. Some memory charms were probably set on me. If I hadn’t taken notes, I wouldn’t remember till this moment. 

While I was unable to recall the identities of the people that assaulted me, their profession as Ministry workers were certain. Upon my return, I was informed by my peers that a group of Ministry workers arrived at the office and took all of the research I collected. After I returned to the location of the hill, I was again notified that the Ministry prohibited civilians from entering the hill and sealed it completely from outside observers.

The Ministry's actions were a poor attempt at hindering the press from reporting the reality; however, truth comes out no matter the restrictions that are placed on it. Despite their efforts, this article is still published to inform the public of the research I had alongside with me at the time of my assault. 

The ruins of a castle begs lots of questions that goes still unanswered: whose castle is this? Whose chest is this? What is inside that large trunk? Why is the Ministry so persistent in findings remaining undisclosed?

And most importantly… When will the Ministry break its silence?

 

*                *               *                *                *

 

_“_ _And most importantly… When will the Ministry break its silence?”_  

Hermione whipped her head to look at her two friends, gripping the newspaper tightly. Her knuckles were pale and her eyes sparkled with an eerie excitement.

“Oh no,” Ron muttered. Harry glanced to his face and chuckled. 

“Do you know what that means?” Hermione loudly whispered, “First time the Daily Prophet published so antagonistic to the Ministry of Magic! _Wel—_ First time since you-know-what happened with the you-know-who last year— _sorry,_ Harry.”

“No problem.”

She thumped her hands to the table. A few of the Gryffindors looked at her from their breakfast. Ron sighed and brought a sausage to his mouth.

“This is a direct challenge to the Ministry’s authority, Ron! The reporter— _Derek Spinnet_ — is accusing them of misinforming the public, a reporter of the _Daily Prophet._ We thought, for all this time, that they were the Ministry's own propaganda tool but if their own reporter is disputing with them, imagine what Harry can claim! Right, Harry?”

“Right.” 

Harry sipped his pumpkin juice. The table shook as Hermione straightened from her seat suddenly. 

“And that is while not considering the actual discovery itself! If the Ministry is taking such lengths to conceal this, the artifact is potentially more ancient than the rumours make it to be. Do you know what that means, Ron?”

“No?”

She jumped from her seat. A few Gryffindors looked at her disapprovingly. Hermione sat again. Ron gulped.

“Hermione calm down!”

“Ron! Don’t you realize the magnitude of such discovery?” she pointed out to the newspaper, “This _artifact_ that the Ministry is currently trying to cover up is perhaps thousands of years of old.”

“So?”

“Ron!” Hermione’s tone sounded exasperated. Ron continued.

“We don’t even know if this _Spinner_ dude is actually telling the truth. Who knows how hard he was obliviated. He might be spinning a web of lies from his bottom for all we know.”

“Obliviated?”

“Yes, Harry. Obliviation is a form of memory charms. Only certified Obliviaters are allowed to obliviate, however. Remember Lockhart?”

“And when did you start to actually believe in what the Daily Prophet publishes, Hermione? After how they treated Harry last year— _sorry,_ Harry”

“No problem—”

“—this artifact stuff might be just them attempting to shift the focus from you-know-who to something less compromising!”

“We have no reason to suspect this reporter, Ron!”

Ron raised an eyebrow.  “Like we can trust the _Daily Prophet._ ”

Hermione glared at him and Ron raised his hands.

“Hey! I’m just being a little critical, you know.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Critical,” she mouthed to Harry. Ron brought another sausage to his mouth. Harry covered his smile with his goblet. It was one of those days, or so it seemed.

“What do you think about the _artifact_ —chest though?” Harry asked, “What might be possibly in it that is so important?”

“Possibly official documents. Records of administrative duties,” Hermione said, “They are often what rulers consider essential to whichever community they govern.”

Ron looked at Hermione. “Boring,” he said, “If it is ancient as this _reporter_ claims, it must contain some kind of a magical object that has an impressive quality to it.”

“Think powerful amulets or magical gauntlets—” Hermione rolled her eyes, “Or perhaps an enchanted weapon we can use against you-know-who.”

“A little too hopeful, I think,” said Hermione.

Ron huffed.

“Well, it would be nice to have a weapon against Voldemort,” Harry said, “Or even against Umbridge.”

“She gave you another detention, right?” Hermione asked, “You snap out a lot in Defense but even then, I think she is being more than a little unfair to you.”

Ron nodded. “If Hermione is saying this, Harry, it almost means she is calling her a b—” 

“—Ronal—”

“—h so you are officially off the hook, mate.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to try to keep your head down a bit,” Hermione added.

Harry considered his two friends, then glanced at Umbridge at the head table, attempting to have a conservation with Headmaster Dumbledore, and tried to catch his eye. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he turned back to his friends and opened his mouth.

“I think a magical guide would be awesome. Like a magical book that told you how to deal with toad-like professors or half-snake dark lords.”

“Everyone needs an advisor for them to tell them what to do from time to time,” replied Ron.

Ron and Harry shared a look and laughed.

“But you two still don’t realize the significance of such an artifact!” said Hermione.

“This artifact might be possibly the most ancient artifact the Wizarding world has unearthed recently, and might carry some clues for when the time period it is from! Who knows how _this_ artifact will change the history? The same history we are learning currently?”

Hermione brought her hands to her forehead and sighed. “Oh my! Some of the books in the library will probably be outdated.”

She looked at Ron and Harry.

“Oh! But you know what that means?”

Ron felt his blood freeze. He and Harry locked eyes. They both knew what it meant. 

“We need to do research!”

 

*                *               *                *                *

 

_“Let’s have a look at this closet, shall we?”_

The Minister of Magic peered at the large chest once more. It had been a day since they decided to transfer it to behind closed doors from prying eyes. The daily prophet article was bad (but not too bad if it took attention away from the you-know-who and Potter case, right?) 

Minister looked at the few remaining wizards. They had gathered around the closet, like him staring at the ancient artifact curiously. 

Two wizards stood out. Both with an air of pompous superiority and clashing personalities. 

Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor. 

It was going to be a long day. 

“I decided to assign Mr. Bowmann to this case.” as _he knows how to deal with this mess..._

“Minist—” “Mr. Fudg—” 

“Since it seems neither of you are capable of deciding which one of your departments is taking this artifact, I thought a neutral ground would be better.”

Both of them fell silent. 

“And after we learn the contents of the chest, Mr. Bowmann can decide which department would be more suitable for this artifact. Is this acceptable?”

Mr. Broadmoor grunted. Unspeakable Abbott glared. 

“Is this acceptable, I asked!”

“Yes, Mr. Fudg—“ “Of course, Ministr—“

“You two can manage it until he arrives, then?” _as two consenting adults…_

He did not wait for their answer.

 

*                *               *                *                *

 

Unspeakable Abott and Mr. Broadmoor were staring at each other. The remaining wizards and witches scattered away, leaving them alone with the chest.

“Will we wait until Mr. Bowmann arrives then?”

“I think we can work together until he arrives.”

“First we open it.”

“Thanks, genius.”

Mr. Broadmoor glared at Unspeakable Abbott. 

“Call for the Wardbreakers.”

“But Unspea—”

“Call for the Wardbreakers.” His tone was sharp and crisp. It seemed Mr. Broadmoor would not bow down to her today, Unspeakable Abbott thought. 

“Neutral ground, remember?”

Unspeakable Abbott raised her wand to the air and whispered. A small paper plane sprang out of the tip of her wand and bolted. Both Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor watched it swoop and glide away.

“Done.”

“Now, we wait.”

“Until Mr. Bowmann arrives, then.”

Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor glanced at each other, then quickly turned away. Sounds of footsteps were heard a few moments later. A fast pace halted just behind the doors and someone knocked.

“You can come in!”

A young head slipped from behind the door and asked, “Someone called for the Wardbreakers?”

“Yes. Come in. Come in.”

The door opened to reveal a young man wearing the standard Wardbreaker uniform: long indigo robes with a magenta shawl. Not an intern then. Unspeakable Abbott wrinkled her nose. 

“Good afternoon, Mister. I’m Vincent Broadmoor, the Head of Magical Artefacts,”  Mr. Broadmoor began, “And this is Unspeakable Abbott,” he waved his hands towards her direction.

The young man froze but swiftly composed himself. He extended his open palm towards them.

“Ethan Mathew, third degree Wardbreaker. Nice to meet you.” He shook both of their hands but then his eyes hastily darted towards where the large trunk was placed. He shuffled towards it.

Unspeakable Abbott catched Mr. Broadmoor’s eyes and gave an exasperated expression.  Mr. Broadmoor rolled his eyes. Both of their heads snapped when the Wardbreaker started talking.

“This artifact is the reason why Wardbreakers were needed, I presume.”

Unspeakable Abbott gave a sigh but started talking.

“This artifact was found a few days ago,” said Unspeakable Abbott, “Because of its _delicate_ nature, we also need a little secrecy.” The Wardbreaker nodded.  “You must have realized the artifact itself is old— _possibly ancient_ , so we require mindfulness as well as caution.”

“Though I have to warn. The wards around the artifact…” Mr. Broadmoor strayed, “…is a little tricky.”

All three of them stared at where the large chest was seated. It appeared dormant and yet… The air chilled abruptly and the Wardbreaker shivered. 

Eyes watched as they wandered around the artifact. The darkened wood appeared innocuous but the markings of strange creatures and grotesque beasts revealed another picture.

The Wardbreaker raised his wand and whispered, “ _Specialis Revelio_ ”

All of a sudden, a glaring light and colours unfolded above the chest. Shadows and light displayed intricate knots and twists. Loops of purples and reds and blues and yellows were tangled in a congruous manner.

“Incredible...” the Wardbreaker whispered.

“Can you break it?”

“Break it?” He looked offended.

“But they are…” he gave a long sigh, “ _…beautiful._ ”

Mr. Broadmoor cleared his throat and Unspeakable Abbott tapped her foot on the floor. The Wardbreaker continued, “I apologize. It has been a long—a very _long_ time since I've seen wards so sophisticated and refined. They look like a piece of art. It would be a disgrace to unward them…”

 Unspeakable Abbott glared at him. The Wardbreaker’s face blanched.

“ …that has to be done.”

The Wardbreaker took a deep breath.

“But I need assistance,” he said, “The wards are masterfully crafted and preserve most of its strength and tension despite their old age.”

He looked at two wizards standing before him and said, “I need to return to the Wardbreaker’s office and assemble a team of Wardbreakers to even _attempt_ breaking the wards and charms placed on this artifact.”

Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor glanced at each other. 

“I think that won’t be necessary,” said Unspeakable Abbott.

“We are three skilled wizards. I think we can manage,” added Mr. Broadmoor.

The Wardbreaker’s eyes widened. “Of course. Of course,” he stuttered. He aimed his wand towards the large chest one more time and said, “When you are ready, sir and madam.”

Both Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor raised their wands. The Wardbreaker stared at them and cleared his throat.

“I will cast the necessary enchantments to begin the Unwarding Process. Then you should follow my lead. Mr. Broadmoor,” he addressed him, “you should cast the _Immobulus_ charm to stall the wards from collapsing onto each other.” Then the Wardbreaker turned towards her. “Unspeakable Abbott,” he said, “you should cast _Relashio_ to unwind and release some of the tension the wards are going to accumulate during the Unwarding Process.”

With a final glance at the two of them, the Wardbreaker started to chant. A few seconds later, Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor followed his lead and started to cast their spells as well. The tangles and loops around the large chest appeared to disentangle but a few minutes later, wards crumbled back to their initial position. Sweat began to build up on their foreheads. 

The Wardbreaker recited other spells, which accelerated the unraveling. Light intensified, knots and loops brightening in an intolerable degree. Unspeakable Abbott shielded her eyes with the hem of her robes and saw the other two wizards doing the same. It was radiant. Unbearably.

“How much is left?” she shouted. Her voice came to her ears muddled.

“What?” someone replied. She couldn’t see which direction it came from, the light blinding her from anyone and everything.

She shouted again. No one replied. The voices and light continued to rise in a consonance. There was a ringing in her ears, she noticed. It was a cacophony. 

Then everything was fading. No. Not everything.

She lowered her robe as the light dimmed. Her vision was blurry as the black spots faded. She looked at the other two wizards, who were in the same state of disarray. The Wardbreaker was inhaling and exhaling heavily and Mr. Broadmoor was holding his hand to his chest.

She and Mr. Broadmoor exchanged a look of disbelief.   

“The wards are broken,” whispered the Wardbreaker. His eyes darting back and forth, appearing unfocused.

“Thanks for your great efforts, Mr. Mathew,” began Unspeakable Abbott but paused after seeing the Wardbreaker’s face turning green.

“I think I need to see the infirmary,” said the Wardbreaker and abruptly emptied his stomach.

“That would be for the best, I think,” Unspeakable Abbott replied. After a quick _Scourgify,_ the Wardbreaker rushed out of the room, leaving Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor alone once more. However, both of their attention was only on the large chest, now remaining without any wards concealing the secrets it held in itself.

Soon enough the lock had been blasted off. Its lid fell back stiffly.

Unsealing the closet revealed… _what?_

“What’s you staring for, boy?”

A senior voice was heard coming from the chest’s direction. Unspeakable Abbott raised her head to meet with two mature eyes. Painted eyes. With one pale raised eyebrow.

The painting was referring to Mr. Broadmoor, who was staring at the portrait, his mouth gaping wide open.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?” The portrait was now watching her, his eyes peering at her curiously.

“Unspeakable Abbott,” she introduced herself, “May I learn whose portrait I’m talking with?”

“Good heavens! At least someone knows how to introduce themselves. Can’t have enough manners nowadays, can we?” The portrait was glaring at Mr. Broadmoor.

“ _Merlin_ help me…” mumbled Mr. Broadmoor.

“Nobody is helping you!”

“A chatty portrait, just what I needed.”

“Well, beggars can’t be pickers. I don’t see any other chatty portraits around here, do I?”

“Who are you?” Unspeakable Abbott asked.

“Who am I?” he stroked his long snowy beard. “Who am I?” he wondered.  A glint appeared in his eyes as he exclaimed, “I am who I am and I am who I was, and I am who I will always be!”

“That settles then,” said Mr. Broadmoor, “We are all going crazy.”

“That’s only you, Mister-I-don’t-need-to-make-any-introductions!”

“At least I’m not a senile portrait of an old man!”

“At least I’m not a deranged old man!”

“Hey! I’m not old!”

“You admit you are crazy?”

Unspeakable Abbott pinched her nose.

A sound of a crush was heard from outside the door.

Mr. Bowmann had finally arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Life was life. I had stuff came up. Some academics and health related stuff distracted me from the real passion of my life.
> 
> (not really. Mostly I was just feeling lazy so I literally did nothing except laying on my bed and wondering about my life choices. You know, the usual)
> 
> I hope my mind-vomit didn't disappoint you or anybody! I will probably update this in one week or 6 months (according to my update schedule). So hold on tight!
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker. So pointing out any mistakes would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Next chapter: Inspection


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